#Aquaman (2018)

[gracelaurie]

Innocent | Ed Warren x Reader

pairing : Ed Warren (Conjuring) x Female Reader

summary : You have been frequently bothered by a bride ghosts since you were little. But as you grow older you feel increasingly disturbed and you ask for help from Ed and Lorraine Warren, a demonologist, to help you escape the curse.

Instead of focusing on the exorcism case this time, you are caught up in a hot affair with Ed Warren.

After all, who would refuse his cock?

warning : full of smut, cheating, masturbation, virginity loss, unprotected sex, p in v sex, breeding kink, rough sex.

for another patrick wilson ff ➡️ masterlist

You snuck into Massachusetts Western University, Wakefield. You’re obviously not a student there, you graduated from uni last year. You knew that Ed and Lorraine Warren would be lecture in there so you disguised yourself as a student.

You’re wearing a white shirt matching with a black short skirt that is above the knee. Your beautiful legs are covered with sheer stockings.

Because of your appearance, many men stare at you stunned, even women seem to steal glances at you. You’re really beautiful and different from others. Your outfit is certainly the opposite in the 70s, but it’s not because of your outfit that makes many people admire you, but because you have a beautiful face with hair that looks very soft.

You have responded politely several times when several people tried to get to know you, and they were surprised why they had never seen you here.

Even though you attract attention there, you remain focused on your purpose here. The thought that told you to focus appeared when you saw the bride's figure appear again at the end of the room while Ed and Lorraine Warren were teaching in front. The bride looks at you with red eyes, and blood comes out of her eyes.

The blood dripped on the floor and when Lorraine walked backwards and stepped on the blood, in an instant the figure disappeared.

Lorraine gasped. She froze in place, looking at the floor which now had no blood at all- then she saw you.

Ed grabbed his wife’s shoulder, and he asked, “what is it, hon?”

“Nothing,” said Lorraine briefly, her eyes still looking straight at you. Ed followed his wife’s gaze, and he’s looking at you now.

“We have to,” Lorraine stopped because she was still trying to digest everything, “we have to continue this.”

Ed nodded, he then turned the video back on, “A French-Canadian farmer with no more than a third-grade education yet after he was possessed, spoke some of the best Latin I’d ever heard.”

You looked at the screen seriously. Suddenly you felt goosebumps, but when you looked to the side of the screen, you saw Ed caught staring at you, then Ed immediately continued talking, “S-sometimes backwards.” said Ed, who surprisingly, he’s stammer.

“He’d been molested by his father, who had also tortured him repeatedly.” Ed said still unable to take his eyes off you.

You realize this. It seems like you stole Ed Warren’s attention since Lorraine stared at you intently- she knew and could feel that you were being followed by the ghost. But her husband gaze at you... seemed different.

To ensure that, you pulled up your short skirt and crossed your legs. Your thighs are clearly visible in the sheer stockings which makes Ed even more unable to focus.

“A dark spirit…” Ed’s hungry gaze at your thighs, made his wife, Lorraine, suspect her husband’s strange behavior. Ed nervously continued, “A dark spirit made its home in- in th- this man.”

“Now, if you look into his eyes, you can see him tearing blood.” said Lorraine. You watched carefully and felt increasingly goosebumps all over your body.

Again, Ed couldn’t stop looking at you. You know that just by looking, you know this is wrong. He’s a married man and maybe they already have children. But you can’t deny that you like being seen by Ed, you feel like you want to tease him again.

“And like that…” Lorraine said while glaring at her husband and you alternately, “an upside-down cross started to appear from within his body.”

“All right, Drew, you can hit the lights.”

Suddenly everyone raised their hands to ask questions. You are surprised by this, not because of the enthusiasm of the class so that everyone wants to ask questions except you, but you are surprised because you feel like you didn’t get anything from their explanation.

Because Ed keeps looking at you and you in your seat keep teasing him. It seems like no one noticed, but if anyone in the room noticed besides his wife, they couldn’t blame you. He’s hot.

You can feel Ed and Lorraine’s relationship immediately strain. After answering questions from various students, they immediately left the room at a fast pace. You immediately follow their steps towards their car.

“Hey,” you said walking over to them as they were about to get into their car, “hey, I need your help.”

Before Ed could reply to your words, you quickly said, “I’m not a student here. I’m not even from this city, I came all the way here because I got news that you were lecture here, and...”

“That ghost bride….” said Lorraine still looking straight at you, “she follows you all the time, wherever you are.”

“And the worst part is…” you lowered your head, “she was the one who made my best friend die. I was driving a car, and I saw her figure right in front of my car, and I was fooled, I...”

“I’m sorry about what happened…” Ed said looking at you guiltily, then he looked at his wife who seemed to be trying to digest something, “I’m sure we can help…”

Lorraine turned to her husband. Don’t know why he really wants to help you even though they were very busy handling other cases that they should have investigated right away. Of course Lorraine wants to help you, but she feels bad instincts between her husband and you.

She knows that you have seduced her husband and his husband can’t take his eyes off you, but she had seen everything through her vision, about a bride ghost who always haunts and disturbs you.

“Of course we can help you,” said Lorraine smiling at you, gesturing for you to get into their car.

When you got into the car, Lorraine’s smile faded as she looked at her husband. She knew that something like this would happen, they had been together for a very long time, she knew that one day her husband would give another woman his gaze as if he wanted to strip her naked. But she didn’t think she could bear this much pain, however she had to focus on her purpose this time to helping you.

“How long have you been bothered by that ghost?”Lorraine asked when you arrived at her house.

You thought that the house will contain terrible things, but it turns out that all of them have been stored in one room. Her house is the same as most houses, classic interior design, and various paintings... Lorraine said that her husband likes pictures.

“When I was little,” you said, then you looked at Ed for a moment. And you realize that you look at him too often, “I don't remember exactly, but I could see her when I was 6 years old.”

“I felt very scared. especially when I no longer live with my parents, I...” you give up. You can’t control yourself from looking at Ed. His proportional body makes you want to be fucked by him.

“I'm not from this country. I studied in America and I have graduated from university and now I live here.” You could feel Ed constantly looking at you.

You bit your bottom lip, “I was alone, in the past if I was disturbed every night I could ask my parents to look after me. I know it was the actions of a spoiled child, but now everything is different, I endure all this alone, and I’m afraid...”

“You are not alone, we are here to help you...” said Lorraine holding your hand gently, “can you explain to us what you experienced…apart from your friend’s accident?”

You think for a moment, then you say quietly, “she often comes into my dreams, I don’t know, she always says something but I never remember it. And the weird thing is, I feel like I dreamed of her only for a moment, maybe 2 minutes ago, and when I woke up, it was already morning.”

“Ed...” said Lorraine softly.

He nodded his head, “yes hon?”

“Can you be here accompany her? I will be right back.” said Lorraine as she stood up. And then she whispered something to her husband, making you feel strange. She turned to you and smiled faintly then left the place.

“Where did she go?” you asked as Ed now sat down next to you.

“She’s just… want to do her thing.”

“No, you always work together. I don’t believe that.” you said feeling suspicious.

“And you believe what?” said Ed, “After you showed me your thighs and bit your sexy lips while me and my wife were lecture in there.”

Ed’s soft fingers touched your pink lips, his thumb combing every corner of your lips while his other fingers held your chin.

You let go of Ed’s hand with a slow movement. “No, Ed, we can’t.” You said trying to avoid eye contact from him.

Ed grinned, “Why not?” he tucked your hair behind your ear, holding your chin, “look at me.”

You’re looking at each other now. You can’t help yourself when you see Ed in his formal suit and tie... his body is very proportional with his very handsome face. You only looked into his eyes for 5 seconds and you immediately kissed Ed’s lips hungrily.

Ed kissed you back, your fingers undoing Ed’s tie. He kissed your neck aggressively, then with quick movements he placed your entire body lying on the sofa. He took off his suit and shirt, as did you at the same time taking off your shirt.

When you were about to take off your skirt-- Ed, who was already topless, bit your neck and then said in a deep, hoarse voice in your ear, “leave the skirt in place. as are those filthy stockings...”

Ed ripped your sheer stocking right at your cunt. He moved your panties to look at your pussy. You could feel Ed’s fingers playing on your clit. His thumb rubs your clit with lazy movements while his other 2 fingers into your cunt.

You groaned in pain, Ed said, “damn, 2 fingers won't really go inside. You’re so tight, honey.”

“You're a virgin huh?” said Ed, who was still playing with your clitoris and with his fingers, you could only nod weakly.

“What a surprise.” You felt his fingers force their way into your vagina making you scream in pain.

You can hear Lorraine calling her husband because he heard your moan, “don't worry hon, this is part of the exorcism I’m doing. I can do it myself.” Ed lied so stupidly.

“Ed...please...” you let out a weak moan, you looked at the door of the house which was still wide open, “Ed... shouldn't we close the door first?”

His fingers slipped from your cunt. He started to unbutton his trousers. You can see his cock which is so big and hard in front of you.

You can feel his cock starting to enter the walls of your cunt which are already very wet. He kisses your thighs which are still covered in stockings then enters his entire penis into you. Makes you groan in pain and shed tears.

You felt sore because Ed’s big cock was inside you, but you really liked it.

“Ed, we have to close the door...”

Ed now put your legs over his shoulders and fucked you very aggressively, he answered, “That's not necessary. If someone else passes by this house, at least they can see what a slut you are.” He squeezed out the last word by thrusting his cock deeper into you.

You were drunk with the pleasure he was giving you. You accidentally said a sentence you didn’t want to say.

“Ed Warren.....a sexy demonologist that I just met. A married man that would exorcise all the demons in my body. Please have my baby, put it all in me…. I want you..” you moaned as he insert his cock into your wet cunt with fast movements.

Ed looked at you with pity, “I really wanted to see you have my baby the first time I saw you with those thighs that were so tempting... obey me and be a good slut.”

You nod and you feel increasingly excited and want to climax when Ed kisses both of your tits and licks your nipples while still inserting his large penis inside you.

“Ed... I want to cum.” you moaned when Ed bit your nipple.

He then kissed your collarbones then you could feel his rough breath on your neck now. He kissed your neck then you felt something flowing inside you.

He releases a lot of sperm inside you. With nothing left. His big cock was still inside you when Lorraine caught you both in the living room.

“So, can we start now?” She asked with a straight face, “of course you can do an exorcism faster than this, right, Ed?”

Ed chuckled, he still hadn't removed his cock from inside you, “yeah hon, give us some time to get dressed again.”

Lorraine left the room still with a straight face. But you know that she really jealous and hurt because she obviously heard all your moans and can imagine how great your sex was. But she can’t do anything for that because she wants her husband to be happy.

You kissed his lips as he pulled his cock out of your pussy, “that was amazing.” you said then he smiled happily.

Your still naked bodies stood up and Ed hugged you from behind, “ready for round two?”

***

[doormatty3]

Blizzards and Beef Stew - Chapter 1 (Patrick Wilson x FOC)

Masterlist Ao3

Blizzards and Beef Stew Masterlink

Summary

[Patrick Wilson x Original Female Character] [Patrick Wilson x Original Character] Éléanor had always adored winter: its snow, its crisp air. But what she treasured most was retreating to her cosy cabin in the Swedish mountains. There, she could bake, sketch, and enjoy the solitude, far from the noise of the world. At least, that’s how it used to be—until a new neighbour arrived. Patrick Wilson was tall, charming, and with a smile that seemed to melt the coldest days. As they struck up a friendship, Éléanor found herself drawn to him, even though he remained oddly secretive about his last name and evasive about his work. But when a fierce snowstorm trapped them both, it became clear that Patrick might just be the warmth she needed in more ways than one. OR: Patrick uses his body to warm up Éléanor in the snowy mountains.

Wordcount: 3412

A/N: If you wanna be tagged for the next chapter - just let me know

Éléanor took a deep breath as she stepped out of her car, the crisp mountain air filling her lungs. Sweden was stunning at this time of year, with the snow-draped scenery stretching out before her like an untouched, pristine canvas. The snow shimmered under the midday sun, resembling a scattering of tiny jewels across the ground. Only delicate, winding animal tracks disrupted the thick, white layer that enveloped everything.

Tall, majestic pines loomed around her, their branches laden with snow, bending gently beneath its weight. Occasionally, a gust of wind would send a flurry of flakes tumbling from the branches. For a brief moment, Éléanor closed her eyes, enjoying the silence that enveloped her.

She focused on the sharp, icy air that bit at her cheeks and the gentle sound of snowflakes drifting down from the sky. A few flakes tangled in her hair, softly brushing her face before melting away. Éléanor smiled, savouring the tranquillity and the unmistakable chill of winter that she had missed so much.

With another deep breath, she opened her eyes and looked towards her little cabin, nestled among the towering pines. The wooden retreat, with its dark timber walls, stood in stark contrast to the snowy landscape. Frosted windows reflected the sun's soft glow, casting a warm, golden light across the snow-covered ground. Over the years, this place has become her sanctuary, where she returns every winter. No bustling café to manage, no customers to serve—just the stillness of nature and the quiet flow of her creativity.

She knew it would be bitterly cold inside, but her trusty fireplace would soon take care of that. Pulling her coat tighter around herself, Éléanor grabbed her bags from the back seat and took in the familiar sight of her cosy cabin.

The snow crunched under her boots as she trudged through the ankle-deep powder towards the front door, mentally noting that she would have to clear the path later.

With a push, she opened the door and sighed in relief.  Inside, the scent of aged pine wood welcomed her, and the warmth of the cabin sharply contrasted with the chill outside.

The place was small and rustic but perfect for her. A fireplace sat in the centre of the main room, with a plush armchair and a soft couch in front of it.  To the right was a small kitchen that always smelled faintly of fresh bread. In the far corner, large windows revealed a breathtaking view of the snow-covered mountains.

She set her luggage down by the door and took a moment to take it all in. A satisfied smile tugged at her lips.

She was home.

After shrugging off her coat and scarf, she unzipped her suitcase and carefully pulled out two of her most precious items. The first was her sketchbook, its well-worn cover filled with memories of past trips, sketches of café patrons and fleeting scenes from her travels. She held it fondly, flipping through a few pages to find her latest watercolour drawing—an old cathedral from back home in France, bathed in the golden hues of a setting sun. Smiling at the piece, she set the sketchbook gently on the small table by the window, a spot she knew she would spend countless hours by over the coming days.

Next, she reached into the suitcase and brought out a small, carefully wrapped container. Unwrapping it, she revealed her beloved sourdough starter, Jacques, alive and well, despite the journey.

“You made it, mon cher,” she whispered affectionately, holding the container close as if greeting an old friend. 

Jacques had been with her for years, travelling wherever she went, and every loaf of bread she baked carried a bit of home within it—he was an essential part of her café back home. She placed him on the kitchen counter and popped the lid off to let him breathe.

With Jacques settled and her sketchbook ready, Éléanor took the rest of her time to unpack, folding her clothes neatly into the cabin’s wooden dresser and laying out her art supplies.

Several days passed in peaceful solitude, just as Éléanor had wished.

Her mornings were spent sketching by the large window that overlooked the snowy forest; the light from the rising sun cast a golden glow over the snowy land, and she captured the way the rays shifted through the trees in delicate watercolour strokes. Afternoons were reserved for baking, as the enticing aroma of sourdough wafted through the cabin while she tried out various recipes, each loaf turning out more delicious than the last. In the evenings, she curled up by the fire with a good book, savouring the quiet and the crackle of the burning wood.

One evening, as she was tidying up after a long day of painting, her phone buzzed on the kitchen counter. Wiping her hands on a towel, she picked it up and smiled as her best friend's name appeared on the screen.

“Bonsoir, ma chérie!” Virginie’s voice was bright and lively, a stark contrast to the quiet surrounding Éléanor. The sound of music and laughter echoed in the background. “Guess where I am!”

Éléanor chuckled, already knowing the answer. “In Spain, of course. How wild is it this time?”

“Wild!” Virginie exclaimed, nearly shouting over the noise. “I’m at this incredible party—everyone’s dancing and I’m halfway through my second bottle of wine! You should see it, Éléanor. How are you surviving up there in the mountains, all by yourself?”

Éléanor laughed, picturing her best friend surrounded by a whirlwind of music, people, and bright lights. “You know I prefer the quiet. Besides, the snow is beautiful, and I’ve got my art to keep me busy.”

“Sure, sure, your art,” Virginie teased. “Let me guess, you’re sitting there with your sketchbook, sipping tea like some brooding artist.”

“Not just that,” Éléanor said, her voice light. “I’ve been baking too. Jacques has been very productive.”

There was a long pause, and then Virginie’s voice came back, incredulous. “Oh my God. Don’t tell me you actually brought the damn sourdough starter with you!” Éléanor could practically hear the eye-roll over the phone. “You seriously dragged Jacques all the way to Sweden?”

Éléanor grinned. “Of course I did. I couldn’t leave him behind; he’d die.”

“Éléanor,” Virginie groaned, laughter bubbling in her voice. “You’re ridiculous. You brought a jar of bacteria to your winter getaway. No wonder you’re still single—you’re in a committed relationship with bread dough! You really need to get laid, ma belle.”

Éléanor burst out laughing. “Hey, Jacques and I are very happy together, thank you very much.”

“I’m serious! You’re too young to be cooped up in the mountains with Jacques. What you need is to be at this party with me, drinking wine and meeting someone who isn’t yeast-based.”

Éléanor shook her head, still smiling. “Maybe next year, Virginie. But you know I love it up here. The peace, the quiet—no distractions. Just me, my art, and my bread.”

“Ugh, you’re hopeless,” Virginie said dramatically. “But fine, if you want to keep having your mountain romance with Jacques, that’s on you. Just remember that I’m living my best life here! Next year, though, you’re coming with me. No more hiding away in the woods.”

“We’ll see,” Éléanor replied, though they both knew the answer. “I’ll think about it, okay?”

“Hm, I’ll take that as a maybe!” Virginie’s voice softened a little. “Don’t be too lonely, alright? I’ll be back in France soon, and we’ll catch up. Love you, ma belle.”

“Love you too, Virginie. Have fun!” Éléanor hung up, a fond smile lingering on her lips. Virginie’s energy was infectious, and their friendship balanced each other perfectly. While Virginie craved the buzz of parties and crowds, Éléanor preferred the stillness of moments like this—just her and the quiet comfort of the mountains.

She moved through her nighttime routine with the ease of familiarity. Brushing her teeth, washing her face, changing into warm pyjamas, and braiding her wild hair to keep it in check. She took one last look at her sketchbook, then at Jacques, making sure everything was in its place before heading to bed. The cabin was quiet; the silence was only broken by the distant howling of the wind outside.

As she drifted off to sleep, the peacefulness of the mountains surrounded her, a comforting embrace that lulled her into dreams of soft snow and watercolour landscapes.

In the dead of night, Éléanor stirred, hearing the faint crunch of tyres on the snow and the sound of a car engine rumbling outside. She sat up in bed, her heart pounding in the sudden silence that followed. It was rare to hear anything but the wind and the occasional call of an owl this far up in the mountains. Curious and slightly wary, she slipped out of bed and made her way to the window.

Pulling back the curtain just a fraction, she peered out into the dark night and noticed the soft glow of headlights cutting through the darkness, illuminating the cabin beside hers.

A man stepped out of the car, tall and broad-shouldered, his face hidden beneath the shadows of the night.  He unloaded bags from the trunk with practised ease. Éléanor’s brow furrowed. She hadn’t expected company up here. Most people avoided the mountains in the depths of winter unless they had a specific reason to be there.

Éléanor watched him for a moment, her curiosity piqued. The neighbouring cabin was often vacant during the winter, so it was unusual to see anyone here, especially at this hour. He moved quickly and efficiently without much noise. Maybe he was just another quiet visitor, someone like her, seeking solitude.

With a quiet huff, she pulled back from the window and returned to bed. She wasn’t here to meet strangers. Seclusion was what she’d come for, and that’s what she intended to keep—no matter who had arrived next door.

Still, as she drifted back to sleep, a part of her wondered who he was and why he was here in the same remote corner of the world.

_____

The next morning, she woke to a bright, crisp day. The sunlight streamed through the large cabin windows, illuminating the fresh snowfall that blanketed the landscape outside. The snow glittered under the early light, creating a world that looked almost magical, untouched, and pure.

Still wrapped in the warmth of her bed, Éléanor let out a soft sigh, listening to the silence that filled the cabin. It was the kind of quiet she craved—no sounds of cars or people, just the occasional soft creak of the old wood settling and the gentle crackle of embers from the fireplace. She loved these mornings. The snow had a way of making everything feel slower and more peaceful.

Stretching lazily, she threw on a thick sweater and made her way to the kitchen, her bare feet padding against the cool wooden floors. The familiar sight of her sketchbook left open from the previous night’s work, caught her eye, and she smiled as she passed it. The half-finished watercolour of the mountains stood stark against the white paper, still waiting for the finishing details.

She filled the kettle with water and began preparing her usual morning tea, humming softly to herself. The cabin smelled faintly of pine and the lingering scent of sourdough bread from the previous day.

Just as the kettle started to whistle, a knock at the door interrupted the stillness. Éléanor frowned, glancing at the door in surprise. She wasn’t expecting anyone. Cautiously, she walked over to the front door and opened it, the rush of cold air making her tighten her sweater around herself. 

Standing on her porch was the man she had seen arriving last night—the one who had moved into the neighbouring cabin. He was bundled up against the cold, his thick jacket dusted with snow as his broad-shouldered frame filled the doorway. 

She noticed his striking face: a sharp jawline, high cheekbones, and a straight nose that gave him an effortlessly handsome look. Beneath the knitted hat that covered his ears, wisps of light brown hair peeked out, and a trace of stubble ran along his jawline, growing denser along his upper lip.

His breath puffed in small clouds as he smiled at her, his blue eyes catching the light of the morning sun. 

Éléanor blinked, momentarily distracted by how impossibly good-looking he was. He looked like someone who should have been on a magazine cover rather than standing on her snow-covered porch.

“Hey,” he greeted her with a smile that was equal parts charming and boyish. “I’m Patrick. I’m staying next door.”

His voice was smooth, deep, and easy, with a friendly tone that instantly made her feel at ease. Despite the cold air biting at her cheeks, Éléanor couldn’t help but feel warmth spreading through her.

She hadn’t expected him to introduce himself, let alone in person. His presence felt oddly natural, though, as if he belonged in this quiet landscape. Still, it took her a moment to respond.

“Hi,” she finally said, offering a small smile in return. “I’m Éléanor. Nice to meet you.”

Patrick’s smile widened, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “I was just shovelling the snow off my driveway,” he explained, nodding toward his cabin. “Figured I’d offer to do yours, too, since I’m already out here.”

Éléanor blinked, caught off guard by his offer. She wasn’t used to anyone offering to help in these parts—usually, everyone who came to the mountains was looking for the same solitude she was. But there was something in his demeanour that felt genuine and unassuming.

“Oh,” she hesitated, glancing at her snow-covered driveway. “That’s very kind of you, but you really don’t have to.”

Patrick interrupted with a light shrug. “It’s no trouble. It’s not like I have much else going on today.”

His easygoing nature and the relaxed way he stood there, his breath puffing in the cold air, made it hard for Éléanor to refuse. She smiled despite herself, her cheeks flushing—not just from the cold.

“Well, if you’re sure… then thank you,” she said softly.

He gave her a friendly nod and turned to walk back down her porch steps, heading towards his own cabin to grab a shovel. His movements were smooth and purposeful, and something about how he carried himself made it clear he was used to being in control. He moved with confidence but not arrogance—just a natural, effortless ease.

As he began shovelling, Éléanor couldn’t help but admire him from the warmth of her cabin. 

His strong arms worked steadily as he cleared the snow, his shoulders flexing under his jacket with each movement. She was mesmerised by the way the light played off his sharp features, the concentration on his face as he worked, and the quiet determination in his posture.

Unable to resist, she reached for her sketchbook. She pulled it towards her and settled by the window, the natural light casting soft shadows across the page.

Her fingers quickly flew across the page as she began sketching his form — his strong, defined lines against the snow, the contrast of his dark jacket against the bright white. She sketched him from different angles, flipping through the pages and trying to capture every detail: the way he held the shovel, the curve of his back, and even the way the sunlight glinted off the snow in front of him.

Soon enough, she added watercolours, bringing the scene to life with soft washes of blues and greys to reflect the snowy landscape and the warm hues of his complexion.

Before long, Patrick had finished, and the driveway was now clear of snow. Éléanor watched as he wiped the back of his hand across his brow, exhaling a puff of visible breath. She watched as he took a step back, admiring his work for a brief moment before glancing back toward her cabin.

Éléanor snapped her sketchbook shut, suddenly feeling a bit self-conscious. She had just spent the last hour drawing him without his knowledge, and she wasn’t sure how he would react if he knew. 

Deciding to thank him properly, Éléanor brewed a fresh pot of tea and poured two steaming mugs. She bundled herself up and stepped out onto the porch, her boots crunching on the freshly cleared snow.

“Patrick!” she called out, holding up one of the mugs. “I made you some tea. Thought you might want something warm after all that work.”

Patrick glanced up, a smile tugging at his lips. He wiped his hands on his jacket and made his way towards her. As he took the mug from her, their fingers brushed for a moment, and Éléanor felt a tiny, unexpected spark shoot through her. The casual intimacy of the touch caught her off guard, and she couldn’t help but steal a glance at his hands.

His hands, though warm from holding the mug, were still slightly reddened from the cold. They were large and strong, with well-defined knuckles and carefully groomed nails. Éléanor quickly looked away, hoping he had not noticed her lingering gaze.

“Thanks,” he said, taking a sip of the tea. “Perfect timing.”

They sat down on the porch steps together, the steam from their mugs swirling into the cold air. The world around them was still and silent. The only sounds were the distant wind and the crunch of snow underfoot as the snow-capped mountains glistened under the sun.

“So,” Patrick started after a few sips, “what brings you up here? You live around here, or are you just visiting?”

Éléanor shook her head. “No, I’m from France originally. I run a café back home with my best friend, but I come here every winter to take a break…It’s kind of my personal retreat.”

Patrick raised his eyebrows, looking genuinely impressed. “France, huh? I would’ve guessed Europe from your accent, but I didn’t know where exactly.”

She chuckled softly, her cheeks warming. “Yeah, I guess it’s pretty noticeable.”

“Trust me, it’s not a bad thing,” he replied, his eyes meeting hers briefly, and the sincerity in his voice made her blush a little more. 

The sunlight caught his eyes as he spoke, making them an even brighter blue—like the sky on a perfect day, clear and inviting. Éléanor found herself momentarily lost in them, wondering how a man could have eyes like that, so sharp yet kind. 

“What about you?” she asked, turning the conversation back to him. “What brings you to these mountains?”

Patrick shrugged, taking another sip of tea. “Same as you, I guess. Needed to get away, clear my head. It’s hard to find this kind of quiet anywhere else.”

Éléanor found herself nodding along, appreciating the easy flow of conversation. Despite his rugged, handsome appearance, Patrick didn’t seem to have the air of someone looking to impress or be impressed. He was easygoing and comfortable in his own skin, and it put her at ease.

“So, what do you do when you’re not shovelling strangers’ driveways?” she asked, giving him a teasing smile.

Patrick chuckled, the sound rich and warm. “I’m in… entertainment, I guess you could say,” he said vaguely, his tone nonchalant.

Éléanor didn’t press further. She didn’t have much interest in prying into someone’s life, especially when she had come here for peace and solitude. For now, Patrick was simply a kind man who had helped her out—and, as it turned out, was excellent company.

They fell into a comfortable silence for a moment, sipping their tea and gazing out at the snowy landscape. Patrick’s broad shoulders were relaxed as he leaned back slightly, his long legs stretched out in front of him, the fabric of his jeans hugging the strong lines of his thighs.

As their conversation drifted back to light topics—the weather, the beauty of the mountains—Éléanor couldn’t help but wonder about the man sitting next to her. There was something familiar about him, something that tugged at the edges of her memory, but she couldn’t quite place it.

But she let the thought slip away. For now, it didn’t matter. 

As the sun climbed higher in the sky, warming the porch ever so slightly, Éléanor realised just how much she was enjoying Patrick’s company.

“You know,” Éléanor said thoughtfully as she glanced over at Patrick, “I’m not used to having company up here. But… this is nice.”

Patrick looked at her, his expression softening. “Yeah. It is.”

[dommnics]

Just a look at the Arthur and Mera designs separately.

--

Check out more of my work on other platforms!

My Instagram -- My Twitter

[groundrunner100]

A bigger debate than real world politics.

[amberheardnet]

amber heard at comic con (2018).

[lands-of-fantasy]

DCEU (2013-23)

1. Man of Steel (2013) 2. Batman v Superman: Dawn of Justice (2016) 3. Suicide Squad (2016) 4. Wonder Woman (2017) 5. Justice League (2017) | Zack Snyder’s Justice League (2021) 6. Aquaman (2018)

7. Shazam! (2019) 8. Birds of Prey (and The Fantabulous Emancipation of One Harley Quinn) (2020) 9. Wonder Woman 1984 (2020) 10. The Suicide Squad (2021) 11. Peacemaker Season 1 (2022)

12. Black Adam (2022) 13. Shazam! Fury of the Gods (2023) 14. The Flash (2023) 15. Blue Beetle (2023) 16. Aquaman and The Lost Kingdom (2023)

----------------------------------------------------

Despite the upcoming reboot of the DC movie universe, Peacemaker will also be considered a part the new continuity (DCU), with a confirmed second season in the works. Viola Davis will also return as Amanda Waller. Blue Beetle might also make a comeback.

[chasing-caws]

Orm is such a dramatic theater kid in the first movie; the way he shouts as he enters the ring of fire, the way he projects his voice when he says “rise Atlantis!” The way he projects his voice when he shouts “attack” when Arthur appears with the Karathen, he lives for the drama

[letthewhumpbegin]

Aquaman (2018)

[caribbean1989]

"Permission to come aboard?"

Aquaman (2018)

[superherocaps]

[gracelaurie]

𝖒𝖆𝖘𝖙𝖊𝖗𝖑𝖎𝖘𝖙

⊹ ࣪ ˖ ꒰ঌ ♡ ໒꒱ ⊹ ࣪ ˖ ⊹ ࣪ ˖ ꒰ঌ ♡ ໒꒱ ⊹ ࣪ ˖ ⊹ ࣪ ˖ ꒰ঌ ♡ ໒꒱ ⊹ ࣪ ˖ ⊹ ࣪ ˖ ꒰ঌ

all my Patrick Wilson fanfics including (Aquaman, Insidious, and Conjuring)

1. Orm Marius

part 1 part 2 part 3 part 4 part 5 part 6 part 7

part 8 prequel (coming soon)

2. Patrick Wilson

- Series

CHAPTER 1 CHAPTER 2 SEQUEL

- Oneshoot

My Man (Patrick Wilson x Female Reader)

3. Josh Lambert

You’re Mine | Josh Lambert x Reader

4. Ed Warren

Innocent | Ed Warren x Reader

[doormatty3]

Blizzards and Beef Stew - Chapter 6 (Patrick Wilson x FOC)

Masterlist Ao3

Blizzards and Beef Stew Masterlink

Summary

[Patrick Wilson x Original Female Character] [Patrick Wilson x Original Character] Éléanor had always adored winter: its snow, its crisp air. But what she treasured most was retreating to her cosy cabin in the Swedish mountains. There, she could bake, sketch, and enjoy the solitude, far from the noise of the world. At least, that’s how it used to be—until a new neighbour arrived. Patrick Wilson was tall, charming, and with a smile that seemed to melt the coldest days. As they struck up a friendship, Éléanor found herself drawn to him, even though he remained oddly secretive about his last name and evasive about his work. But when a fierce snowstorm trapped them both, it became clear that Patrick might just be the warmth she needed in more ways than one. OR: Patrick uses his body to warm up Éléanor in the snowy mountains.

Wordcount: 5581

Éléanor woke up slowly, the soft light of morning filtering through the windows, casting a gentle glow across the room. She blinked, momentarily disoriented, before remembering where she was—Patrick’s couch, wrapped up in his blankets, the memory of last night still fresh in her mind. A mix of emotions stirred within her: contentment from the quiet intimacy they’d shared, a hint of embarrassment from how things had played out, and something deeper that left her feeling warm and a little vulnerable.

The storm still raged outside, the wind howling softly, but it wasn’t as brutal as the night before. Snow had piled up high around the cabin, turning the world outside into a quiet, white wilderness. Éléanor’s gaze drifted to the couch beside her, where Patrick still slept, his broad chest rising and falling with each breath.

For a moment, she let herself look at him—really look. 

His shirtless body was sprawled comfortably under the blanket, and her eyes traced the lines of his muscles, now highlighted by the morning light creeping through the window. His chest was broader than she’d really noticed before, the pale skin dusted with a light covering of chest hair, something she hadn’t noticed in the dark last night. It curled softly, catching the flicker of firelight, giving him a rugged, masculine edge that made her pulse quicken.

His face was relaxed and peaceful, a stark contrast to the tension he’d carried last night. His lips were slightly parted, and his dark lashes cast faint shadows against his skin. Watching him like this, she felt a warmth that had nothing to do with the blankets or the fire.

His stubble had grown more noticeable, the coarse hairs along his jawline now thicker, and a shadow of a moustache was forming, giving him an almost roguish appearance. Flecks of grey dotted his sideburns, and as the light hit his face, it gave him a certain maturity that contrasted with his boyish grin. 

She found it hard to tear her eyes away—so she didn’t.

Her eyes trailed down his body, taking in his flat, defined stomach and the curve of his hips. His boxers clung to him, riding low on his waist, leaving little to the imagination. The blanket had slipped just enough to reveal the curve of his muscular thighs, and Éléanor’s face flushed as she caught herself staring.

God, he was so attractive.

With a deep breath, she slipped out from under the covers, careful not to disturb him. 

The wooden floor was cold under her feet as she padded towards the small kitchen, grabbing his sweater that lay discarded on the floor and pulling it over her head. 

She wanted to keep busy, to distract herself from the tangle of emotions still swirling inside her. Pulling Patrick’s pullover tighter around her, she began to rummage through what little they had left, trying to piece together some kind of breakfast. Eggs, a few slices of bread, some cheese—it wasn’t much, but it would do.

As she stood by the counter, cracking the eggs into a bowl and slicing up the bread, her thoughts drifted back to the events of the night before. The way Patrick had panicked, the way they’d calmed each other down afterwards, cuddling in the firelight. She couldn’t help but feel grateful for the way they’d handled it. It could have been awkward—embarrassing even—but instead, it had made her feel closer to him in a way she hadn’t expected.

As she mixed the eggs in a bowl, trying to figure out how to cook it without a stove, she heard a soft shuffle behind her. Before she could turn around, Patrick’s arms slid around her waist, pulling her gently back against his chest.

She melted into him, feeling the solid warmth of his body pressing against her back. His chest hair brushed against the back of her neck as he leaned down, his chin resting on her head and his breath against her.

“Morning,” he murmured, his voice rough with sleep, vibrating against her skin. The sound sent a shiver down her spine.

Éléanor smiled, leaning back into him, enjoying the easy warmth between them. “Morning,” she replied softly, turning her head slightly to glance at him. His eyes were still heavy-lidded, his hair tousled from sleep, but there was a soft smile playing at his lips.

He tightened his arms around her just slightly, pulling her closer. “What are you doing?” he asked and stifled a yawn.

“Trying to make breakfast with what little we have,” she said with a soft laugh. “But the stove doesn’t work, and I have no idea how to cook this without it.”

Patrick chuckled, leaning in to press a soft kiss to her shoulder, his touch warm and reassuring. “We’ll figure something out.” His gaze dropped to the bowl in her hands and then flicked back up with a crooked smile. “Or, we could just stick to bread and cheese. A low-maintenance breakfast.”

Éléanor laughed, the sound light and easy, and she felt the tension from the previous night fully dissolve. She caught herself blushing slightly, a bit embarrassed she hadn’t thought of that simple solution first. The eggs were wasted now, a casualty of their morning scramble, but she found she didn’t really mind.

“Honestly, that’s probably the best idea I’ve heard all morning,” she admitted, glancing over at the loaf of crusty bread and the wedge of cheese sitting on the counter. The simplicity of it, the way the fire crackled in the background, made her feel at ease. She let out a small sigh, comforted by the idea that life didn’t have to be perfect to be good.

Patrick’s smile widened, the corners of his eyes crinkling with warmth. “See? It’s the small things,” he said, reaching out to tuck a stray lock of hair behind her ear. The gesture was so natural, so effortlessly caring, that it sent a tiny flutter through her chest.

She set the bowl down on the counter, the broken eggs an afterthought now, and reached for a knife to slice into the cheese. “Next time, I’m sticking to the basics,” she joked, her voice touched with a playful self-mockery and lingering embarrassment.

Patrick’s deep, warm laugh filled the small kitchen, wrapping around her like a favourite blanket. “No need to overthink it,” he said, his eyes finding hers, their familiar sparkle comforting. “It’s not really about the eggs or anything. It’s about mornings like this.”

A soft pause settled between them, broken only by the crackle of the fire and the occasional pop of a burning log. His gaze drifted down, a playful smirk forming as he tilted his head. “You’re wearing my sweater,” he remarked, his voice low and teasing. The brush of his lips against the side of her neck caused her skin to erupt in goosebumps.

Éléanor felt the warmth rise in her cheeks, and she couldn’t help but grin as she turned just enough to catch his eyes. “You didn’t exactly leave me much choice,” she shot back, the humour in her voice softening the air between them. “You were hogging all the blankets.”

He chuckled, the sound vibrating against her skin as he nuzzled closer. “Fair enough,” he admitted, his breath warm and unwavering. The nearness was intoxicating, a blend of comfort and tension that made her pulse quicken.

For a moment, they simply stood there, wrapped in the golden glow of the morning sun filtering through the window. His hands rested gently on her waist, and fingers splayed as if to anchor them both at that moment. She could feel the steady rhythm of his breathing, the rise and fall of his chest against her back. It was an odd mix of domesticity and heat, standing there in his oversized pullover while he held her, both of them pretending that the night before hadn’t changed everything.

Reluctantly, Patrick let his arms fall, stepping away with a small sigh as he moved towards the table where he stretched, his body unfolding in a way that drew her eyes once more. His boxers clung to him, highlighting the sculpted muscles of his thighs and the curve of his back in a way that had her biting her lip. She couldn’t help but notice the way they fit snugly over his ass—tight, firm, and perfectly shaped.

His back muscles rippled as he reached for the ceiling, the light catching on the ridges of his shoulders and the faint sheen of sweat that lingered from the warmth of the room.

Éléanor’s pulse quickened as she watched him, a smile tugging at her lips before she turned to grab the simple breakfast supplies. Patrick brought the bread and cheese from the counter and placed them on the small, weathered table. She followed, carrying two mismatched mugs of instant coffee—more than enough given the circumstances of the power outage.

Patrick leaned over to stoke the fire, the crackle growing stronger as new flames licked at the logs. The warm glow cast long, shifting shadows that danced across the cabin walls, contrasting with the cold, pearly light outside. Snowflakes continued to drift steadily down, adding to the thick blanket that muted all sound beyond the walls.

They settled into the nook beside the fire, knees touching beneath the table, sharing the kind of comfortable silence that spoke more than words could. The flickering light played on their faces, illuminating the curve of Patrick’s smile as he passed her a piece of bread. Their fingers brushed, and a warm spark passed between them.

“So... the storm’s still going,” Patrick finally said, glancing out the window, his eyes following the swirling snow that danced in chaotic patterns against the glass—a sea of white that refused to calm. “Looks like it’s not letting up anytime soon,” he said, his voice low and thoughtful.

“Could be worse,” Éléanor said with a teasing grin, her tone light, though her heart beat just a little faster. “We have food, warmth... and decent company.”

Patrick raised an eyebrow, a smirk curving his lips in response. “Decent? That’s all I get?”

“Well,” she said, the blush rising to her cheeks as she held his gaze, her pulse fluttering under his scrutiny. “I didn’t want to inflate your ego too much.”

He laughed softly, the sound low and rich, the kind that made her stomach flip. Leaning back in his chair, he looked relaxed, but there was an unmistakable spark in his eyes, a playful warmth that drew her in. “More than decent,” he corrected, his voice dipping into a tone that was both teasing and sincere.

Éléanor took another sip of coffee, cradling the warm mug in her hands as she glanced out the window at the snow piling higher in an attempt to stop the fluttering in her chest. “You know … This is probably the most basic breakfast I’ve made in years,” Éléanor said, smiling over the rim of her mug as she took a sip of coffee.

Patrick’s eyes didn’t leave her. “Hey, it’s perfect,” he said, the simplicity of the moment not lost on him. “We’ve got everything we need right here.”

The fire’s warmth settled around them, casting a golden glow that made the cabin feel cocooned from the storm. The silence that followed wasn’t uncomfortable; it was heavy with unsaid things, a shared realisation that the world outside had ceased to matter for now.

“I guess we’re lucky we even have this,” Éléanor said softly, her voice trailing as she looked back at him, their faces close enough to feel the heat radiating between them. “It could’ve been much worse.”

Patrick nodded, but his eyes lingered on her, darkening with an emotion that made the room feel warmer still. “Yeah,” he said, his voice dropping to a near whisper. “I’m glad it’s you I’m stuck here with. You’re... pretty decent company .” The playful curve of his lips softened, revealing a sincerity that wrapped around her like a blanket.

He leaned forward, the movement deliberate, and brushed his fingers across her hand. The touch sent a spark through her, lingering even as he set her empty mug aside with care. When he turned back to her, his expression had shifted, eyes intense, as if he were trying to memorise every detail.

Patrick’s hand lifted, moving slowly until it cupped her cheek, his thumb grazing the curve of her jaw with a tenderness that left her breathless. Éléanor leaned into his touch, her heartbeat thundering in her chest as their eyes met, the distance between them shrinking with every second.

Neither of them spoke.

Patrick moved first, leaning in and closing the small space between them. When their lips met, it was as if a spark had lit a fuse. 

Éléanor’s hand slid up to the back of his neck, her fingers tangling in his hair, pulling him closer with an unspoken plea. He responded in kind, his arm wrapping around her waist with a sure but tender touch.

In a seamless motion, they rose together, the movement natural and instinctive, their lips never breaking contact. Patrick guided her backwards, steps slow and steady but charged with intent as they made their way towards the couch. 

Éléanor’s heart pounded in her chest, her body alive with sensation. Every brush of Patrick’s lips, every touch of his hand on her skin, sent sparks of warmth coursing through her, making her pulse race. 

Patrick gently eased her down onto the couch, his body hovering over hers as their kisses grew more urgent, more demanding, more desperate. 

The space between them seemed to evaporate as his hands moved over her back, tracing her curves with a mix of tenderness and raw need. His touch was everywhere —gentle but commanding, igniting a fire that blazed hotter with each passing second.

Éléanor’s fingers threaded through his hair, pulling him closer, craving more. She felt like she was burning from the inside, her skin tingling with a fierce energy, like that fuse they had lit had finally exploded. 

There was nothing else—just him.

They broke the kiss for just a moment, both of them breathing heavily, their foreheads resting together as they tried to catch their breath. Patrick’s hands were still on her waist, his thumb brushing lightly against her skin, the simple touch sending waves of heat through her, stoking the fire that was already burning inside her.

“Are you sure about this?” His voice was low, husky, each word a quiet rumble that made her heart race. His breath was warm against her lips, his question lingering between them.

Éléanor smiled, her heart fluttering with a mix of excitement and certainty. She reached up, her hand cupping his cheek, her thumb grazing the stubble along his jaw as she looked into his eyes. “Yeah,” she whispered, her voice soft but steady, filled with the surety she felt at that moment. “I’m sure.”

With that, Patrick’s lips were on hers again, the kiss deeper this time, more confident. His hand slid under her sweater, his fingers brushing against her bare skin. Éléanor gasped into his mouth, arching her back as she pressed herself closer to him, her body responding to his every touch.

Patrick slowly began to lift the fabric, his hands warm and steady. Éléanor shifted beneath him, helping him peel it away, her skin instantly exposed to the cool air of the cabin, leaving her in only her panties. 

But before she could feel the cold, Patrick was there, his hands on her bare waist, his mouth covering hers in another slow, deep kiss. Before he lowered himself, pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses along her collarbone. His lips moved with a deliberate slowness, trailing down the sensitive skin of her neck and over her chest, each kiss drawing a soft gasp from Éléanor.

She let her hands wander across his broad shoulders, feeling the strength in him as he held her close, his body warm against hers. His lips brushed over the swell of her breasts, his breath teasing against her skin before he dipped his head lower, leaving a trail of heated kisses as he moved down her body.

The firelight flickered, casting golden shadows across the room, making the moment feel all the more intimate, as if they were the only two people in the world.

Patrick’s hands traced the curve of her waist, pulling her closer as he kissed just above the waistband of her panties, his breath warm against her skin. Éléanor’s breath hitched as his lips lingered there, his touch sending waves of pleasure through her. 

He kissed his way back up, capturing her mouth in a deep, passionate kiss that left her breathless, his hands roaming over her sides. Then, with a smooth, almost teasing motion, he tugged at her underwear again before sliding them down and tossing them aside.

 She felt the cold air on her overheated, exposed skin, and her nerves thrummed in arousal.

Éléanor’s hands slid down his chest, feeling the warmth of his skin under her palms, her fingers grazing the elastic of his boxers. She felt his hard cock through the thin layer of fabric and was desperate to feel him, to continue what they had started yesterday. 

So she pushed his boxers down, leaving them both completely exposed, their bodies pressed together, skin against skin. 

Patrick looked down at Éléanor in the soft morning light, his features softened by the glow filtering through the windows. The shadows from the slowly burning fire danced across his sharp jawline, but it was the intensity in his eyes, the way he looked at her like she was the only thing that mattered at that moment, that made Éléanor feel like she was melting beneath him.

His chest, broad and strong, rose and fell with steady breaths, but the tension in his muscles betrayed the restraint he was barely holding onto. 

Éléanor’s eyes dropped to his body, taking in the sight of him, her breath catching in her throat. He was perfect—every inch of him strong and toned, his cock hard and thick, standing proudly against his abdomen. She reached out, her hand wrapping around him, her fingers brushing over his length. Patrick let out a low groan, his hips pushing forward slightly into her hand as he closed his eyes for a moment, savouring the sensation.

But he didn’t let her linger there long. 

His fingers traced lightly over her skin, starting at her collarbone and slowly moving downward, exploring her curves as if committing every inch of her to memory. Éléanor shivered at the warmth of his touch, her body responding to the slow burn of his attention before her mind could even catch up. 

His hands, big and slightly rough, slid over her breasts, his thumbs brushing over her nipples with just enough pressure to make her gasp.

Patrick’s mouth followed, placing soft kisses along her collarbone, then lower, his lips brushing over her chest, leaving a trail of heat in their wake. Éléanor arched into him, her breath coming faster as his lips closed around her nipple, his hand still gently kneading the other breast. 

The sensation was overwhelming—his warmth against the cool air of the cabin, the firelight flickering beside them, and the intimacy of his touch sending jolts of pleasure through her.

Éléanor’s fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him closer, her body instinctively moving with his as he kissed and touched her with growing intensity. His hands roamed lower, brushing over her stomach and down to her hips, and then, with a firm but gentle grip, he guided her legs apart. The warmth of his fingers, firm but gentle, made her hips lift involuntarily, a soft moan escaping her lips.

Without a word, he slid his hand between her legs, his fingers finding her cunt wet. 

He paused for just a second, letting the sensation sink in for both of them. “Éléanor,” he murmured, his voice thick with desire, his fingers brushing over her sex with a soft touch, barely parting the netherlips but enough to feel her wetness. 

Patrick’s eyes flicked up to meet hers, and a low groan rumbled from his chest as he watched Éléanor gasping and her body trembling under his touch.

He slipped two of his thick, strong fingers into her cunt, pressing them in deep and curling them just enough to find that sensitive spot within her, the one that made her back arch and her breath catch in her throat. 

Éléanor moaned, her hands gripping his shoulders, her body reacting to every movement he made. The way his fingers curled inside her and the steady pressure he applied sent wave after wave of desire through her.

Patrick watched her closely, his gaze locked on her face as he continued to finger her with that perfect rhythm, his thumb now brushing over her clit in slow, firm circles. The pleasure was instantaneous, sharp, her hips instinctively lifting to meet his hand. Éléanor moaned into his mouth, her body trembling as he played her like an instrument he knew too well.

“Fuck, you’re so wet,” Patrick groaned, his voice barely a whisper, full of awe and lust. His thumb pressed against her clit again, his fingers moving in rhythm with the growing tension between them. Éléanor’s body responded instantly, tightening around him, her hands gripping his shoulders tighter, nails digging into his skin as she urged him on.

 “Patrick…” she gasped, barely able to form words, her hips grinding against his hand as her body moved in sync with his. His fingers pumped inside her, slow but steady, the high building with each thrust. She felt his cock, hard and hot, pressing against her thigh as his thumb continued its relentless work on her clit, sending her closer and closer to the edge.

He could feel it too—the way her body tensed and quivered beneath him, the growing wetness that coated his fingers as he stroked her deeply, curling his fingers inside her just to hear that sweet gasp leave her lips. The sensation of her slick heat gripping him made his cock ache with need, and the way her body responded to his touch only heightened his arousal.

Éléanor’s hips bucked against his hand, her moans growing louder as she felt herself teetering on the brink. Patrick’s fingers moved faster, his thumb pressing firmly against her clit, sending her spiralling into a frenzy of pleasure. Her breaths came in ragged gasps as she clung to him, her body trembling under the overwhelming sensation.

Éléanor’s hand shot up, tangling in his hair, pulling him down for a kiss that was anything but gentle. Her lips moved urgently against his, her breath hot and uneven as she kissed him deeply, swallowing his groans of pleasure. She was so close, her body strung tight, every nerve on fire as he continued his slow, torturous rhythm.

And then he stopped.

He withdrew his fingers slightly, his thumb easing its pressure, leaving her right at the precipice but holding her there, not letting her fall. Éléanor let out a frustrated gasp, her body aching for release as she looked up at him in confusion. 

He cupped her face with his now damp fingers, his thumb brushing over her cheek as he kissed her again, softer this time, more controlled. “Not yet,” he whispered against her lips, his voice thick with desire but laced with restraint. He was holding back, savouring every moment, wanting to prolong the pleasure for as long as possible.

Éléanor’s body throbbed with need, every nerve alight with the desire for more, but as Patrick kissed her again, slower, deeper, she melted into him, letting herself get lost in the heat of the moment.

He started to move his fingers inside her again, slow and teasing.

She needed more, her hips rolling against his hand as she sought relief from the unbearable tension building inside her. But Patrick was in control now, his lips ghosting over her neck, the soft, teasing brush of his mouth making her moan with frustration and desire.

“Patrick, please…” she whispered, her voice barely audible, breathless with need.

He lifted his head, his dark, hungry eyes meeting hers. 

A smile played at the corner of his lips, and he kissed her again, this time slower, deeper, letting her feel the heat of him. His free hand traced up her side, his fingers brushing over her bare breast, teasing the sensitive skin. Éléanor gasped into his mouth as his hand cupped her breast, his thumb rolling over her nipple again, making it peak under his touch.

Her body responded to every move he made, a slow, torturous build of pleasure that had her squirming beneath him. Patrick broke the kiss, his lips moving to her jawline, trailing hot kisses down her neck and over her collarbone. He paused at her breast, his tongue flicking over her nipple before he took it into his mouth, sucking gently.

Éléanor cried out, her back arching, her body pressing closer to him as the sensation of his mouth on her breast and his fingers inside her drove her crazy. The combination of his touch, his lips, and the deliberate, slow pace was overwhelming, every nerve in her body alive and burning for him.

Patrick’s fingers curled inside her again, pressing against that spot deep within her, his thumb rubbing slow circles over her clit. Éléanor’s breath hitched, her entire body tensing as the pleasure surged through her in waves. She could feel the edge approaching again, that delicious tightness in her core building, but Patrick kept her on the brink again .

Her fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him back up to her lips, and she kissed him with a fierce intensity, her frustration and desire pouring into the kiss. Patrick groaned into her mouth, his own need evident as he pressed his hips against her, his hard cock rubbing against her thigh, spreading precum on her skin.

“Patrick… I need you,” Éléanor murmured, her voice a breathless plea against his lips, her desperation raw and unguarded.

He pulled back just enough to meet her gaze, his hand still working her slowly. His eyes darkened at her words, the intensity in them almost too much to bear. He kissed her again, rougher this time, before pulling his hand away, leaving her empty and aching for more.

Patrick’s fingers paused for a moment as he looked into Éléanor’s eyes, his breath hot and heavy against her skin. He pulled back slightly, the desire still strong between them, but his gaze softened, filled with a mix of hunger and care.

“I should grab a condom,” he murmured, his voice low but steady, breaking the tension just enough to pull them both back to reality, and the memory of last night flickered in his eyes.

Éléanor nodded, her chest still rising and falling quickly as she tried to catch her breath. “Yes… please,” she whispered, her body already aching for him to return, the intensity of the moment too much to wait.

Patrick reached for his wallet on the side table, his mouth curving in a small, knowing smile as he pulled out the condom, seemingly having placed it there sometime after last night, perhaps in a mix of preparation and nerves.

Without thinking, she reached out, her fingers brushing his wrist as she spoke softly, “Let me…”

Patrick shook his head gently, his thumb grazing her knuckles as he held her gaze, his expression soft yet resolute. His eyes stayed on hers as he shook his head, his voice low and soothing. “No, it’s fine—I’ll do it. I don’t think I’ll be able to keep it together if you touch my dick now.”

She watched as his fingers deftly tore open the small packet, the tearing sound loud in the quiet room. His fingers brushed her thigh as he rolled the condom over his hard cock. Her heart pounded in her chest, the sight of him making her thighs clench together in anticipation.

Patrick leaned forward again, his body pressing into hers, the warmth of his skin seeping into her. His lips found hers, slow and deliberate. His hand, rough yet gentle, slid down her side, tracing the curve of her waist before his fingers brushed over the sensitive skin between her legs.

Éléanor gasped into his mouth, her hips instinctively arching towards his touch as his fingers explored her wet sex once more. He teased her, his thumb circling her clit with agonising slowness while his fingers slipped inside her, stretching her just enough to remind her of how much she needed him. 

“You’re so perfect like this,” he whispered against her lips, his voice rough and low, sending shivers down her spine. Every inch of her body responded to him, the heat between them growing unbearable, her need for him nearly overwhelming.

Patrick could feel it, too, the way her body clenched around his fingers, her slick heat making his head spin. He groaned softly, the sound reverberating between them, as he moved his hand to guide his cock to her entrance. 

She moaned into his mouth, her body trembling with need. Patrick’s cock brushed against her again, the condom in place, and this time there was no hesitation—not like last night. His hand gripped her thigh, pulling her leg up to wrap around his waist as he slowly pushed inside her.

Éléanor’s sharp intake of breath echoed in the room as her body responded to the delicious stretch, her nails digging into his back as she pulled him closer. Patrick’s heart raced, his body trembling as he fought to maintain control, the feeling of her slick heat surrounding him inch by inch.

The sensation of him filling her, stretching her slowly, was everything she had been craving and everything she didn’t know she was craving. 

“God… you feel incredible,” he breathed, his forehead resting against hers as he pushed deeper, his cock sinking into her with slow, measured thrusts. He could feel every pulse of her body, every tremor as her walls gripped him tighter.

Her body responded instantly, arching up to meet him, desperate for more. But Patrick moved with deliberate care, easing into her slowly. Filling her inch by inch until he was fully inside her. He groaned against her neck, his breath ragged as he held himself still for a moment, letting her adjust to the feeling of him.

Éléanor’s hips rolled instinctively, urging him deeper, her breath coming in shallow gasps. “Patrick, move,” she whispered, her voice laced with need as her legs wrapped around his waist. She was losing herself in the feeling of him, the fullness, the weight, the stretch.

He started slow, his thrusts gentle but deep, each one sending ripples of pleasure through them both. Patrick could feel the way her body responded to him, the soft moans escaping her lips driving him wild. 

As his pace quickened, he kissed her again, hard and desperate. His hands roamed over her body, one cupping her breast, kneading gently, while the other slipped between them, his fingers finding her clit again.

Éléanor gasped loudly, her body trembling beneath him as he worked her with expert precision, his cock moving in sync with his fingers. Every thrust, every touch, brought her closer to the edge, and Patrick could feel her body tightening around him, her breath coming faster, her moans louder.

He couldn’t hold back anymore, the pressure inside him building as he lost himself in the moment. 

His hips moved with a deep, driving rhythm, each thrust intensifying as his fingers circled her clit with relentless precision. Éléanor’s breath hitched, her gasps quickening as her body arched beneath him, her soft cries filling the room.

“Patrick… I—I’m so close,” she whispered, her voice laced with desperate need, her body tightening around him as she felt the pressure mounting, ready to break.

Patrick groaned in response, his own control fraying as his movements became more urgent, his fingers working her with precision. He kissed her again, his lips crashing against hers as the tension in her body snapped with a particularly rough flick of his finger on her clit. 

Éléanor’s orgasm hit her like a tidal wave, her body arching off the couch as her walls clenched around him. She gasped his name, her voice trembling with the intensity of her release, her fingers gripping his shoulders as wave after wave of pleasure washed over her.

Patrick followed her, his thrusts becoming erratic as he chased his own release. With a final deep thrust, he groaned her name, his body shuddering as he came, the condom filling with his cum. His body collapsed against hers, both of them breathless and spent.

For a few moments, neither of them moved. The only sound in the room was their soft, shared breaths and the crackling of the fire nearby. Patrick slowly pulled out, carefully removing the condom and tossing it aside before settling back down beside her.

They lay in a comfortable silence, their bodies entwined as the room slowly settled around them. The soft, golden morning light spilt in through the windows, warming the space as they stayed close, wrapped in each other’s presence. Patrick’s fingers traced gentle, soothing patterns on her arm, and Éléanor let herself sink into the comfort of his steady heartbeat beneath her hand.

She felt like she could stay here forever, wrapped in this quiet, unhurried happiness.

[dommnics]

I have a soft spot for Aquaman comics. Their stories are so fun!

Here's some designs for Arthur and Mera that I did for fun. Jason Momoa's influence definitely has taken hold of my vision of Aquaman, and I just thought Mera would look cool with a bit more white in her outfit.

--

Check out more of my work on other platforms!

My Instagram -- My Twitter

[scoffingatgravity]

Am I lying?

[womeninfictionandirl]

Mera by Onur Yürek

[lands-of-fantasy]

DCEU Poster Ladies

Amy Adams as Lois Lane

Gal Gadot as Diana Prince / Wonder Woman

Margot Robbie as Dr. Harleen Quinzel / Harley Quinn

Viola Davis as Amanda Waller

Cara Delevingne as June Moone / Enchantress

Karen Fukuhara as Tatsu Yamashiro / Katana

Robin Wright as General Antiope

Connie Nielsen as Queen Hippolyta

Nicole Kidman as Queen Atlanna

Amber Heard as Mera

Jurnee Smollett-Bell as Dinah Lance / Black Canary

Mary Elizabeth Winstead as Helena Bertinelli / The Huntress

Ella Jay Basco as Cassandra Cain

Rosie Perez as Renee Montoya

Kristen Wiig as Dr. Barbara Minerva / Cheetah

Daniela Melchior as Cleo Cazo / Ratcatcher 2

Danielle Brooks as Leota Adebayo

Jennifer Holland as Emilia Harcourt

Quintessa Swindell as Maxine Hunkel / Cyclone

Grace Caroline Currey as Mary Bromfield

Meagan Good as (Adult) Darla Dudley

Rachel Zegler as Anthea / Anne

Helen Mirren as Hespera

Lucy Liu as Kalypso

Sasha Calle as Kara Zor-El / Supergirl

Bruna Marquezine as Jenny Kord

Becky G as the voice of Khaji-Da